


The Angel and the Snake

by Veul_McLannon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, a day in the life, a play on hissing, written like a children's book because I couldn't help myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 03:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18086837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veul_McLannon/pseuds/Veul_McLannon
Summary: Once upon a time, in an old, old bookshop in Soho, there lived an angel and a demon. Sometimes, they go outside.





	The Angel and the Snake

**Author's Note:**

> this whole idea was because I wanted to play with the idea of a snake saying ‘hiss’ being construed as the word ‘his’ (i.e. mine, hers, his) when the snake is in human form... I’m not sure if it worked as well as I’d hoped but in any case it was an exercise in a new style of writing! I can only apologise for the poetry.

Once upon a time, in an old, old bookshop in Soho, there lived an angel. The angel loved books. He did not love people. (Oh, he loved them in a general sense, of course, but compared to his books... they paled like a painting left too long in the sun.)

The angel had a friend, however. A best friend, perhaps. Labels aren’t important when you’re an angel.

This friend was a demon. The demon didn’t love books, other than in a purely empathetic sense. He did, however, love people. He loved their moods, their potential, their all-encompassing goodness, and their omnipresent cruelty. He loved scaring them, just a little.

And this was quite easy, for a demon who can appear as a snake.

***

It was morning in St James’ Park. The sun was shining, the birds were singing.

Aziraphale (for that was the angel’s name) was sat alone on a bench, throwing bread to the ducks.

Or not quite alone.

Draped about his shoulders was a largeish, darkish snake. It lay placidly, only raising its head occasionally to regard the ducks’ antics.

“What the hell do you call that then?!” The question rent the still, calm air.

Aziraphale looked up, smiling as serenely as a sun-warmed cat.

“Hissss,” said the snake, tail slinking possessively across the angel’s neat bow tie.

“What I call it is none of your business, I’m afraid,” replied the angel. “However, I believe the question you were attempting to ask was ‘Why do you have a snake around your neck?’... Which is also none of your business. Have a good day.”

The offending human suddenly found they had urgent errands to which they had to attend.

“Hissss,” said the snake, settling back down in the golden sun.

***

It was lunchtime at the Ritz. The refined chink of refined people sipping their (ever so refined) champagne, and the soft murmur of refined voices, suffused the air.

Aziraphale hadn’t bothered to book a table for one. When one was an angel, reservations happened to other people.

“Would sir care to relinquish his scarf?” asked the maitre d’ in honeyed tones, gazing somewhere over the angel’s right shoulder.

“Hissss,” said the snake, coiling further around the angel’s neck.

“Thank you, no,” replied the angel. “He causes mischief if left to his own devices. I had better hang onto him.”

The maitre d’ swallowed as the snake fixed uncommonly intelligent yellow eyes on him.

“Hissss,” said the snake.

***

It was a bright afternoon in the old, old bookshop in Soho. For once, it was open during business hours, but happily no customers had yet disturbed the peace.

Aziraphale didn’t like customers. They tried to take his books.

The little golden bell over the door tinkled. The angel stood, almost dislodging his reptilian accessory, and prepared for the inevitable confrontation.

“Cool snake, mister! Can I pet it?” The small human’s eyes lit up.

“Hissss,” said the snake, tucking itself inexpertly under the angel’s ample, dated lapels.

“I’m afraid not, my dear,” replied the angel. “He doesn’t particularly care for strangers, you see.”

The small human backed away, dismayed, and left not long afterwards, empty-handed.

“Hissss,” said the snake, somewhat muffled.

***

It was late evening in the back room of the bookshop. There were no stars to be seen in the city, and the air was far from still. Two wine glasses sat, empty, upon the coffee table.

Aziraphale was sitting on the shabby little sofa, reading aloud from a book of poetry.

 _"The one in white, all aglow he_  
_Bent to the ground most carefully-_  
_And found he there a treasure rare-_  
_A golden serpent in his lair._  
_And spake he then unto the air:_  
_'Now whose is this? Whose could it be?'"_

“His,” said the snake stretched lengthwise on the sofa, looping lazy arms around the angel's neck  and regarding him with adoring yellow eyes. “All his.”

The angel smiled.

The book closed.

But the story continues to this day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I love comments if you enjoyed it! xx


End file.
